Everything We Knew
by Lady Bordeaux
Summary: Years after the Final Battle, things have finally settled down. Harry and Hermione both have families. They are content. However, Albus Severus Potter feels as if part of the story is missing. He, along with his siblings and cousins, sets out to uncover the truth about his family's shaky past. Very slight Harry/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

**Everything We Knew**

There's a fact that you have to admit - around fourteen or thirteen, family tends to become less important.

Try and deny it. Go ahead. But when one reach that stage of adolescent angst, the need for high social status skyrockets, and parents, siblings, and the like fade into the background.

Sure, they're always there. Annoyingly so, even. They are a constant prescense, a voice that is consistently chasiting, asking about school, asking about grades. A voice that gives encouragement when needed, company when asked for.

But slowly, and surely, they are less needed. Less vital. Life goes on, and you grow up. Get married.

Of course, some families are very tight-knit. Some families are exempted from this cosmic rule.

The Potter-Weasley family is one such group.

To them, family is extremely important - possibly the _most _important thing in their lives. No matter how old you get, how stressful school or work becomes, family is number one. That will never change. Their clan is not even limited to blood. No, honorary members are constantly being introduced to ever-expanding group.

They know everything about each other, or close to it. No secrets. Nothing to hide. The past is the past, and there is nothing to exclude from it. It is simply the _past_.

Right?

...

Proffesor Neville Longbottom of Hogwarts was bored.

He knew it was silly; after all, he was an adult, a respected teacher. Surely he shouldn't be complaining, even inwardly, about something so childish.

But life had become somewhat slow, of late. He came to Hogwarts every year. He got up every morning to teach, and went to bed late in the evening after grading was finished. He would then continue this routine for months until break; then, he would go home. Back to Hannah. Back to his wife who loved him. And he loved her. Back to his only child and daughter, Alice - his pride and joy.

He had a normal life. A domestic life.

Yet something was _missing._

He felt that somewhere, at some point in time, his life had taken a wrong turn. There was an empty, hollow space in his heart. It seemed as if it could never be filled.

Most of the time, that is.

There were moments - strange, unusual moments - that occured, where it seemed that his chest was somehow _lighter, _and he found himself immensly happy.

And it only happened when those crazy, hilarious, near-insane Scamander twins were around. With their haunting blue eyes and familiar blond hair, Neville couldn't help but be reminded of the mocked, ridiculed, dreamy Luna from his school years.

It really was the strangest thing.

...

"Dad, are you alright?"

George Weasley looked down at his youngest chid, startled. Roxxane "Roxy" Weasley stared back up at him, the perfect mix of mischief and manners. Normally leaning towards the former, George was surprised by the serious, concerned expression on his daughter's face. Her deep brown eyes were widened slightly with worry, her mouth turned down at the corners. Even at twelve years old, he realized, Roxy was unusually perceptive about other peoples' feelings.

Wondering why she was so upset, George leaned down to her height and responded, a slight smile on his face, "I'm fine, Rox. Why do you ask?"

Her face only grew tighter. "You've been quiet and moody all day. I asked you earlier if you could help me with my homework, and you didn't say anything." Her frown deepened. "You just kept staring out the window."

George felt shocked and slightly unsettled. Had his behavior really been off all day? Had he not even heard his own daughter's question? "I'm sorry, Roxy," he said in all sincerity, hugging her tight. "I must have been thinking pretty hard, eh?" He gave a short laugh, but all mirth vanished from his tone when he caught sight of the enchanted calender on the wall.

_May 2nd._

And he hadn't even noticed.

...

Hermione Granger-Weasley smiled brightly as she checked to make sure her daughter was set for schoo one last time. Rose Weasley stood before her, looking slightly uncomfortable under her mother's gaze.

Finally, after another minute or so of neat inspection, Hermione let her daughter go, after giving her one last hug. "Don't get into trouble, Rose Weasly!" She called out as her red-haired daughter happily ran to catch up with her friend, Anne.

No response came except a wave and a grin, and then her daughter vanished onto the train, following the blonde-haired girl that hurried unboard.

Hermione let out a soft sigh and clasped her hands in front of her, a sad smile on her lips. Rose had been acting strange lately, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder why.

The thought was yanked from her mind as she heard a voice call out, "Hermione! What time is it? The train's probably about to leave...James, quick, help your brother get his trunk on board...yes, Lily, go on ahead, go on..."

Hermione couldn't help but grin widley as she turned and saw Harry hastily walking towards her, his children fanning out from behind him as they went their seperate ways. Lily sprinted towards the train, happy to be dissmissed, and James and Al grabbed all three trunks - James taking two - and headed off to store them inside the train.

Harry walked up to her, running a hand through his ever-messy hair. "It's alright, Harry," Hermione said with a small laugh. "They'll get on in time."

Harry let out a relieved breath, standing next to Hermione and watching as his daughter boarded the train, loose red hair flying out behind her. "I hope so," he responded, his gaze landing on the clock. "I wouldn't want a repeat of my second year."

Hermione agreed, of course, but couldn't help but be amused by Harry's lack of order. It seemed that some things would never change. "No, we wouldn't want that," she replied.

An awkward silence fell over them as they watched Al and James run past. An ear-splitting whistle blew, and the two kids gave their father quick waves before jumping on board as the train began to slide forward.

Both Harry and Hermione waved as the train sped off, a wide, but slightly sad smile on Harry's face.

"Oh, Harry," she told him as the train went out of view. "You'll see them again soon, you know."

Harry turned towards her, looking slightly surprised. "I know," he said, his voice slightly defensive. However, after a long moment of Hermione's knowing look, he cracked. "I just...the house feels so _empty _without them."

Hermione nodded, knowing how he was feeling. She had the same sense of hollowness when Rose and Hugo were off at Hogwarts. It was always so much quieter when they were gone. Sad, almost.

Wanting to cheer him up, she said, "Well, at least you have Ginny to keep you on your toes." She grinned at him, knowing that what Harry loved about his wife the most was her fiery nature.

To her surprise, Harry gave her a weak smile before shrugging. "Actually," he responded, "not so much this year. Her hours have gotten a lot longer. Apparently, if she puts in enough time, she'll be eligible for a promotion."

"Well, that's good," Hermione said, giving him another encouraging smile. "She deserves one, for sure." Ginny was a writer for the Daily Prophet; her influence had turned to the paper into a much more respectable one.

"What about you?" Harry asked. "Are you up for a promotion any time soon? You certainly deserve one. The Ministry's gotten a lot better since you went into office." He grinned at her. "Who knows where us wizarding citizens would be without your brilliance?"

Hermione nearly scowled at Harry's unfailing ability to make her blush, years after meeting her. His flattery concerning her intelligence had always been so kind and sincere.

_"You're a great wizard, Harry."_

_"...not as good as you."_

Hermione shook the flashback from her head, and apparently, the action wasn't only mental. Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you alright, Hermione?" He asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Nodding quickly, the brown-haired witch replied, "Yes, I was just reminiscing." She shot him a small smile.

Reminiscing indeed.

...

Harry Potter was a content man.

There was no denying that. He loved his job, loved his wife, and absolutely adored his children.

_His children._

No question about it, Harry's children were the greatest blessings he'd ever been given. Lily Luna was a rocket. Though she had a kind-hearted and gentle nature, her soul was just as fiery and free as her mother's.

James was _James Potter_, that was for sure. As time grew on, Harry almost began to regret his choice of names for his oldest child. Mischevious but quick-witted, James Sirius had a lot going for him - that is, if he grew out of his childish tendency to prank and or/hex anybody who rebuked him for his antics.

And of course, there was the middle child. Albus Severus had a lot to live up to, Harry knew. The spitting-image of his father, Albus arrived at Hogwarts in his first year with hundreds of people waiting for him to be sorted in Gryffindor, to be as courageous as his father and save the day whenever trouble arose. However, their expectations were obliterated when Albus was sorted into Slytherin. Having took Harry's advice into account but deciding against any persuasion, he let the hat put him where it pleased. And despite the mocking Albus recieved, Harry watched as the green-eyed boy had single-handedly changed Slytherin's reputation, and as a father, Harry Potter couldn't be more proud.

Yes, he children meant more to him than they would ever know.

Yet, despite being content at the way his life had turned out, it was just that - _content. _Sure, there were times when Harry was most certainly over-joyed. Watching James and Albus battle it out in Quidditch like nothing else in Quidditch, but remain very close, filled Harry with a happiness he hadn't felt in a long time. Locking up lethal wizards and witches in Azkaban left him with a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done.

But the feeling of happiness wasn't as constant as he had expected it to be. Of course, he'd known that his life wouldn't exactly be domestic bliss after the Battle of Hogwarts, but he _had _expected something other than the occasional burst of joy at the sight of his childrens' accomplishments.

Only when Harry was at Hogwarts did he feel entirely at peace. He thought he would be happy to leave the wizarding school behind, to go into the world and experience something new.

But despite the bad memories that the ancient castle held, the good times outweighed the bad ones by far.

And occasionally, as he walked the halls of the castle, on a day when he was meeting with Minerva, a thought would occur to him.

_Perhaps I'm simply dwelling too much on the past._

But that notion was insane. Harry was very much glad for the life he had now. The past was the past. Right?

...

Albus Potter couldn't lie. He had always been curious about his family's past.

Sure, there were the stories - some were even taught in school.

But he didn't care much for the generic versions. No, he wanted to know the details.

Because _sometimes_, things happened that left Al wondering if he'd ever missed something from the tales of his family's past. His father and his Aunt Hermione would sometimes exchange these looks. They were expresssions he'd never seen shared by his father and his mother.

Sometimes, Uncle George would drift off. Al would have to say his name multiple names before he caught his attention.

These small, seemingly insignificant details kept Al awake at night. He would lie in bed, wondering what had _really _taken place in the seven years that his family was in school.

He vowed to find out. No matter what it took.


	2. Chapter 2

**I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

**Everything We Knew**

**Chapter 1**

**The Picture and the Pensive**

It was just a picture.

Albus knew it shouldn't be bothering him.

_It was just a picture._

Still, the image before him managed to irk him endlessly. How it had gotten lost into his trunk, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he opened it up on the first day of his fourth year, and there it was.

Lying on top of his scrunched and wrinkled clothes was one picture.

One _bloody _picture.

And for _Merlin's sake_, he couldn't figure out why it was so annoying.

He had shoved it into a drawer in his bedside table, thinking that he would come to forget about it. Yet every night, as he lay awake in bed, the urge to pull it out and study it would strike him hard and fast. Against his better judgement, he would quietly roll over in bed - as not to wake his roommates - open the drawer, push aside a mountain of graded papers, and gently pick up the single object that continued to bug him, much to his confusion.

It was a simple image, really. It was slightly bended at the edges and down the middle, as if someone had folded it to keep inside a pocket. However, it wasn't the state of the material that concerned Al. It was the two people inside it.

His father and Aunt Hermione.

They looked about sixteen or so. Harry was leaning up against a large tree, books sprawled out all around him. Hermione was concentrating intently on a piece of paper, oblivious to Harry's gaze on her. It wasn't even a magical picture; just a plain, old, muggle one. A single second in time, captured forever on a roll of film.

Al wasn't stupid. He knew how close Hermione and his father were. They had grown especially attatched after the war, from what he'd heard. But they had always been _just friends_- never anything more. Al knew this should comfort him. He should just let it go and toss the picture away.

But he couldn't. Every time he went to drop it into the rubbish bin, his hand would clamp shut.

He couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He simply _couldn't_. Al would take one more look at that strange expression on his father's face, and each time he did, he wanted so badly to know what it was. What it meant.

If he got rid of the picture, he would never know.

...

As he walked through the halls, Al was tempted to run back to the Slytherin Common Room. His legs were slightly shaky with nervousness and he could feel beads of sweat running down his face.

It was his first time sneaking out of bed at Hogwarts, and he didn't even have the Marauder's map.

_Thanks, James, for getting to it first. I really appreciate it_.

Shaking aside his negative thoughts, he attempted to focus as he approached the entrance to Dumbledore's old office.

After the the second Wizarding War, a new office had been built for Professor McGonagall. Albus Dumbledore's office was left untouched, out of respect. Al had always thought it strange, but had never spoken up to anyone about it.

Luckily, the password for the office hadn't changed from his father's time at Hogwarts. After muttering "lemon drops" very quietly, he looked to his right and left, then entered the office.

After extinguishing his wand, Al made his way towards the pensive at the back of the room. It was glowing with a strange blue light, the sight sending a shiver down Al's spine. Making sure his steps were soft and soundless, he stopped in front of the round, gray bowl.

He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, silver flask, containing one of his father's hairs. He'd found it on the back of the picture, and could only hope that it was his. He dropped the hair into the silvery liquid, and without warning, was plunged into darkness.

...

Al blinked, and was immensely surprised to find himself staring at a tan, rumpled ceiling. His eyes adjusted, and he remembered where he was.

_A memory. I'm in a memory._

At this thought, he shot straight up, glancing wildly around him. He was shocked to realize that he was in a tent.

He was even _more _shocked at the scene before him.

His father - a _much _younger version of his father - was standing over a youthful Aunt Hermione, hand outstretched.

Al watched in complete wonder as Hermione glanced at the hand solemnly, a thoughtful expression gracing her features. A few seconds passed before a small smile found its way onto her face. She gripped the hand, and Harry pulled her up with surprising agility.

He then proceeded to dance with her.

Yes.

His father - _his father_ -was dancing with Aunt Hermione. Sure, it certainly wasn't formal dancing. In fact, it was a little wacky. Al almost laughed at the two teens before remembering exactly where he was, and when this was happening.

In actuality, Al didn't try to figure out the "when." He was too busy watching as his father abruptly stopped twirling Hermione and stared at her with a strange expression.

The same expression he wore in that annoying, irksome, _bloody _picture.

Al's surprise increased greatly as he witnessed the two lonely teenagers inch closer. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating all together. The moment that his father and aunt were sharing - it was deeply, deeply personal, and Al suddenly felt as though he were intruding on something very private.

Al couldn't help but feel a surge of relief as Hermione turned away, guilt creeping onto her face and sadness seeping back into her eyes. Sighing gently, the brown-eyed girl went to sit by the radio, and Harry was left standing there, that same odd look in his bright green eyes.

Suddenly, Al felt a hard tug, and was pulled back to reality. He hit the floor with a thud, getting the wind knocked out of his chest in the process.

As he lay there gasping for breath, a deep, slow voice sounded from above him.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what are you doing out at this time of night?"

* * *

**Meh. That was pretty good, right? I'm tired of being that jerk that never updates, so I decided to write this.**

**Yes, I know I stole that scene from the movie. You have to admit that it's adorable, though.**

**Please review, it means ****_so much _****to me!**

**-Maria**


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